


rude boy

by sovietghoststories (lucid_lies)



Category: Lance Tucker - Fandom, Sebastian Stan - Fandom, The Bronze (2015)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Ejaculation, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 17:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14061915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucid_lies/pseuds/sovietghoststories
Summary: Lance Tucker; the kind of guy you hate until he's inside you.





	rude boy

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr  
>  I take requests.

Thick beams of sunlight spill through the curtains and into the room, overly bright and overly annoying. Groggy, you roll onto your front with a groan and toss an arm over your head, refusing to acknowledge that it’s a new day. It doesn’t matter what time it is; it’s still too fucking early.

A war hammer smashes into the base of your skull rhythmically and your heartbeat throbs in your temples. You’re pretty sure something died in your mouth, and you hurt all over, feeling like roadkill. Hell, you probably look it too. Clearly, you’re not as young and spry as you used to be.

There was a time when alcohol replaced all the blood in your body. You could stay out till four in the morning, pounding drinks and still be able to get up in time for lecture. Those days are dead. Last night and the hangover from hell confirm it.

All you remember is that last shot of tequila. What a terrible fucking idea that was. The relationship you have with Senior Patron is complicated and rife with many nights spent hovering over a toilet. You’re usually smart enough to avoid it.

After that colossal mistake, everything goes foggy. The memories coalesce into a confusing blur of swollen lips and naked skin. The tender ache between your thighs pulses at the jumble of mental imagery. You wince, and the uncomfortable sensation of dried cum dispels all doubts; you spent the night getting pounded.

Here’s to hoping you fell asleep alone though that’s highly unlikely. You’re in someone else’s bed after all. Maybe you got lucky, and they split as soon as the sun came up. This situation is already awkward enough without adding a strained morning after to the mix.

As far as you’re concerned, you’re not accountable for the imposter’s actions and you sure as hell don’t wanna know who she picked up while you were riding shotgun. The probability of running into the drunken bedfellow rises with every minute you waste lazing around. You really, really need to get your ass up, but it’s so hard to move. This bed is amazing, it’s like floating on a cloud.

You shove your face into the pillow, letting out a muffled groan as the scent of expensive cologne fills your nostrils with every inhale. It’s as strangely appealing as it is familiar. There’s a little niggle at the back of your mind, but when you try to focus, it slips through your fingers like smoke. In the end, you brush the thought aside. It’s not important. You need to get your ass in gear. It’s a struggle.

“Fuck me.”

“Normally I’m a once and done kinda guy, but I think I can make an exception for you.”

Everything crawls to a standstill and your stomach drops. Your heavy eyes pop open. Soft sheets fill your field of view, and you stare at them blankly. There’s no way in hell you’re turning around; you refuse to. Shifting uncomfortably, you can’t help but be beyond grateful there aren’t points of contact between your bodies.

That arrogant voice and the man attached to it, you’ve dealt with his egocentric, off colour remarks for months. It’s the one and only Lance Tucker: one of the most obnoxious people you’ve ever met with a very specific skill of pissing you off just by opening his damn mouth.

 _Why,_  you think,  _Of all the people I could have slept with, why does it have to be **him**._

You wish the bed would swallow you whole.

“This is a nightmare.”  

Tucker scoffs, and you burrow into the bedding. Or you try to. Your escape won’t be so easily won. A massive paw grips your shoulder and turns you over onto your back. Before you can see your shame in the light of day, you slam your eyes closed. If you can’t see him, he’s not here.

“Please just leave me here to wallow and die.”

“Stop being so overdramatic.” The hard line of his body brushes your side, and you’re uncomfortably aware of the heat radiating from his skin. You resist the urge to inch closer. “Look at me.”

You shake your head.

A thumb hooks around the corner of your jaw, digging into the soft spot on the underside. “I said look at me.”

“Just fuck off, Tucker, as if this isn’t embarrassing enough for me. You don’t need to rub it in; you won, okay? Congratulations.”

He doesn’t respond. You grit your teeth.

There’s history between the two of you. It involves some crude comments on his part and ends with you vowing that no matter how pretty he is, you’re not touching that with a 10-foot pole. He begged to differ, said it was only a matter of time. Guess he was fucking right.

But you’ve always been stubborn as a mule, and you refuse to let him have his victory. You fucked, but you’ll be damned that he gets to gloat about it. It takes two to tango, and he’s as much to blame for this as you are.

The victory blooming in your chest is short-lived, thoroughly blown to pieces. There are two critical mistakes you make at that moment. The first is forgetting just who you’re in bed with, and the second is forgetting that you’re completely naked.

The hand on your jaw disappears and quickly reappears between your thighs, shoving your legs open. His knuckles run the length of your slit, and he hums in approval at the leftover slick he finds there.

Gasping, you jerk away from his touches even as a thread of low-grade arousal coils low in your belly. Tucker’s grin is downright predatory, his stare hooded and hungry.

“Thatta girl, show me those eyes.”

Breathless, your hips twitch traitorously, and you clench down subconsciously.

“Tucker –  _Lance_ , knock it off.”

This is not good, not good at all.

Fucking him once was bad enough, but at least you can’t remember it. If you let this continue, you’ll be fully cognizant. You’ll remember the taste of his lips, the feeling of his body pressing against yours, the stretch of his cock.

“Please.” You’re ashamed to admit that you’re not sure if you’re begging him to stop or continue.

He’s not going to stop, the glint in his eye says everything his mouth doesn’t. He’s going to take you apart piece by piece then fuck you back together, and you’re going to  _ **love**_  it.  

“See, you’re saying one thing, but your cunt’s saying something else.” His fingers thrust deep into your tight warmth without warning and the heel of his palm grinds against your clit. He taps your g-spot teasingly, delighting in your full body shudder. “Gotta make up your mind baby girl; you’re sending me all kinds of mixed signals.”

He’s toying with you, and it’s working, riling you up. God, are you really going to do this?

Lips glide over the jut of your cheekbone, and a husky voice fills your ear, “What’s it gonna be? All you gotta do is say it, say you want me, and I’ll give you what you want.”

Yes, yes you are.

But you’re never going to admit you want him, out loud anyway. Your pride can’t handle it. That doesn’t stop you from impatiently raising your hips, grinding down on his fingers and meeting his eyes with your own lust blown pair.

He may be an asshole, but Jesus does he look good above you.

“So that’s how you’re going to be.” He chuckles, rolling his eyes goodnaturedly. “No worries, I’ll have you begging for me soon enough.”

The  _you wish_  dies on your tongue as you watch him descend down your body until he’s shouldering his way between your thighs and resting against the mattress on his belly. Broad palms skate over your soft flesh, inching closer and closer to your heat. Whatever you’d been expecting, it certainly wasn’t this.

His unwavering stare makes you uncomfortable. “Just get on with it already,” you say quietly, feeling the heat in your cheeks.

He doesn’t need any more prompting. Tucker uses his thumbs to spread your lips and open up your folds. Cool air dances across your core, every bit of you exposed. There’s no hiding the embarrassing amount of slick wetting your thighs or your swollen clit. He can see everything and the vulnerability has you trembling. 

He ducks down, giving you a firm, solid lick that has supernovas bursting behind your eyelids. He groans at the taste of you, pressing his face deeper into the apex of your thighs. His noise vibrates through your flesh, and you hand flies down to rest on the top of his head, a feminine sigh escaping your throat.

Your fingers delve into the thickness of his hair, and for a moment, you get lost in the sensations overwhelming you. Every swipe of his tongue, every brush of his lips sets you aflame, but the feeling doesn’t last. It gets overtaken by the smouldering antagonism resting beneath the surface of your skin whenever you deal with Tucker. Seeing his face between your thighs inspires a dizzying mix of disgust and desire, and it pisses you off even more.

In retaliation for everything he’s ever done wrong (you can’t think of specifics when his tongue keeps doing this sinful little flick), you yank on his hair as hard as you can. His neck wrenches back, and you see him wince from your vantage point. Spiteful satisfaction blooms within your chest at the minor pains you caused.

It might be petty, but you can’t bring yourself to care overmuch. This is the only form of revenge you can have when he’s eating you out to within an inch of your life. Say what you will about his personality, but the boy sure knows how to use his tongue.

“You bitch,” Tucker groans, smothering the vibrations in your slick folds. You keen, bowing back so far you’re afraid you might slip a disc. “That fucking hurt.”

For all his complaining, he doesn’t stop. In fact, he dips his head, so you tug at the roots harder while his hands wrap around your thighs and hold down your hips. He fries your brain when he grinds his face into your slit, keeping you completely pinned as his tongue flickers and teases, licking you open slowly.

The sloppy sounds of your cunt as Tucker tongue fucks you are only broken by your soft sighs, moans of pleasure, and the occasional masculine grunt. It’s never been like this before. Sure, previous boyfriends have gone down on you, but they never seemed to care for it. **  
**

Tucker on the other hand?

He’s  _loving_  it and eats you out with ferocity, searching for his own relief by rutting against the bed. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen; his usually perfectly styled hair in utter disarray, strands falling over his forehead, his face buried in you, the muscles of his back bunching and releasing with every slow rock of his hips, the quiet, muffled moans of satisfaction.  

He’s certainly not shy, and you never expected him to be. He laps up your juices and gives you pleasure freely and without reservation, sucking on your clit. Any grace he possesses disappears. All his movements become rough and desperate, wet and messy.

You don’t last long. In fact, you cum embarrassingly fast, stuffed full of his tongue and fingers.

“Lance,” you gasp, a choked off, broken sound that fades into open-mouthed silence.

The ball of heat in your belly bursts and rushes over you. You shake apart, cunt clenching so hard your womb aches as a wet gush of fluid dribbles out of you, soaking the lower half of your body and the bed under you.

Stars dance in the darkness behind your lids. You’re strung out and weak, incapable of movement, of thought, of anything besides the very real possibility that your bones dissolved when you came.

“Shit, that’s  **hot**.”

Tucker shifts and your eyes flutter weakly. Breathing is difficult, and you realise you can’t feel your hands distantly. Tucker kneels at the foot of the bed, your cum soaking the lower half of his face. His lips are red and swollen, and his eyes are dark and lusting. The pupils are blown so wide the iris is nothing more than a thin ring of slate grey. His cock juts from his body proudly, curving towards his belly. Smears of precum stain that ridiculous fucking tattoo and you get the strongest urge to clean him up with your tongue.

Seeing him look so debauched shouldn’t be as hot as it is, and you low key want to kick your own ass for thinking about Tucker like this. Having sex with him is one thing, actively appreciating him is something else entirely. But no matter how hard you try to ignore it, the sight of him is a sucker punch to the gut and leaves you breathless and yearning for more. You’re at war with yourself, contemplating round three when he ruins it all by opening his mouth.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you?” He smirks and preens.

The arrogance in his gaze is the last straw. Anyone who knows what a clit is and is halfway decent with their tongue can get a girl off. He’s nothing special, just another run of the mill asshole. You’re rudely reminded of this just as you started to forget why you dislike him.

“You know what, Tucker?” If you could move right now, you’d shove him out of the way and get out of dodge. As it is, you can barely move your legs let alone stand, your knees weak and thighs shaky as phantom pleasure washes over you. You settle for shooting him a nasty scowl. “I’m still not fucking impressed.”

Immediately, his face drops into a bitchy sneer. You want to smack him. Wiping that look off his face with your palm would be so satisfying like all your birthdays rolled into one.

“The fuck you mean you aren’t impressed?” he asks, sounding utterly insulted.

Good. The arrogant prick deserves it.

“I made you  _squirt_  like five times.”

“Once, Tucker, you made me squirt  ** _once_**.” You ignore the pounding of your heart and scoff, dismissing his words, “Even I can do that. You’re no better than my vibrator.”

The muscles in his jaw clench, his stormy gaze searing you to the bone. He looks pissed, shoulders tense and mouth a thin line. You swoon a little inside, achingly empty. “I’ll fucking show you who’s better than a damn sex toy.”

You shoot him a nasty grin, tone dripping with sarcasm, “Sure you will.”

You start to turn around, shifting on to your hands and knees when a set of large hands stop you in your tracks. Panic shoots through you, and any anger you have fizzles away. He can’t expect you to – oh, but of course he does.

“No, not like this.” You squirm, attempting to roll over onto your belly. Fucking face to face is too intimate, and it doesn’t help that he’s got a huge ass Olympic ribbon above his dick. You don’t trust yourself to keep a straight face. “I can’t.”

“Mm, no, we’re doing it just like this baby,” he croons, caging you beneath his hulking frame, “I wanna see your pretty little face when you cum.”

Your response gets lost in a low groan as he rubs himself against your slick folds. The fat head catches on the hood of your clit and you whimper, a sharp spike of arousal travelling through your body. You want, and you want bad but that tattoo…

You try one last time. “Tucker, please, I can’t –  _fuck_.”

The tip slides into you, just far enough that you can feel it but not deep enough to be pleasurable. The smug bastard thrusts gently, knowing exactly how torturous this is for you. You forget about the tattoo quickly, your number one priority now getting him inside you as quickly as possible.

“Something wrong, baby?” he asks.   
  
“Shit, Tucker, come on,” you pant, biting down on a whimper. “Just put it in already.”  
  
You’re dying, and he’s enjoying every minute of it.   
  
“Whatever you say.”  
  
Ignoring your desperation, he keeps it slow, languidly working his cock into you inch by agonising inch. Your muscles flutter and pull him in deeper, milking his thick shaft. It’s forever before he finally bottoms out and your eyes roll into the back of your head, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.   
  
He’s right  **there**.  
  
You feel every ridge, every throb of his cock and it stokes the embers of your desire higher and higher. You’re stretched so wide around him, aching sweetly. He’s definitely the biggest you’ve had. You’ve never felt so full. The taut skin of his belly presses on your throbbing clit with every inhale, his pelvis flush with yours.   
  
“F-Fuck, Tucker.”   
  
Above you, he shoots a cocky albeit weak grin. His eyes tracking every twitch, every jerk of your body. He’s on a mission to find out what makes you tick, all to prove a damn point. You can’t decide if you wanna slap him or get fucked into the mattress by him. It’s probably a bit of both. He boils your blood, but you’ve never been more aroused in your life.   
  
“You’re so fucking wet for me, baby. See, what’d I say? I’ll have you screamin’ my name in no time.”   
  
“Are you always such a prick?” You groan, breathing deep and slow. He hasn’t moved yet, but you’re on the edge, and you’re not ready for this to be over. He hasn’t delivered, you haven’t been fucked raw, and you’re not leaving this bed until he gives it up. Now if only Tucker could shut his damn mouth and get the show on the road.  
  
He rolls his eyes, broad palms taking a firm hold of your hips and shifting around until your thighs rest over his. “Bitch. You ready?”   
  
“Your dick’s not so special I need a warning,” you snort, ready to tack on another scathing comment when he decides to pull back and thrust forward.  **Hard.**  
  
Your mouth drops open in a near silent gasp, and all the air flees your lungs. The head of his cock nudging into the spongy tissue of your g-spot. Fissures of pleasure crackle down your spine, and you pulse around him.   
  
“A-Ah!” Your voice is shaky, spread thin.   
  
Tucker isn’t faring any better. His palms tremble against your skin, and there’s a furrow to his brow, his mouth slack. You feel more than see his abdominal muscles tensing, his stuttering hips. “Shit, baby, I forgot how tight and soft your cunt is.”  
  
You’re incapable of speech, reduced to mindless rutting. His broken moan shatters something between the two of you and then it’s nothing but bruising kisses, sharp teeth, rough hands, and frantic fucking.   
  
He slams into you so hard the bed rattles against the wall, all the while saying things so filthy even a nun would blush. You appreciate his rippling muscles with your hands, caressing the firm lines of his body, doing your best to keep pace and hang on. He hits your g-spot with every other thrust. It has your toes curling in the sheets.   
  
“Lance, I’m - I’m,” you sound completely wrecked, unable to even finish your sentence.   
  
“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” his voice is whiskey rough, full of gravel, his hips never missing a beat, “Cum on my cock.”   
  
A fingertip finds its way to your clit and rubs once, twice, three times, and then you see galaxies. You cry out, clutching him close as everything inside snaps and crashes over you like a tsunami. You’re helpless against it’s rushing tide. Your body spasms and your cunt gushes wetly around Tucker, the sound obscene. The groan he releases as he feels you throbbing is low and lewd.  
  
“That’s my girl.”  
  
Boneless and panting, you sink back into the pillows, staring up at Tucker with glassy eyes. Tremors wrack your body, and all you can do is lay there as he finds his own pleasure.   
  
“Shit, I’m gonna – fuck!”   
  
One last thrust buries him as deep as he’ll go, and then his cum is filling you to the brim, his face slack with pleasure. He drops his head to your shoulder, and his hands gently pet your sides, his breath puffing across your neck in moist puffs as his body twitches and jerks.   
  
You’re weak and fucked out. He’s not any better. You lay under him for a long time, utterly silent except for your shuddering breathes as your bodies come down from unimaginable heights. When your arms aren’t so useless anymore, you push at his chest.   
  
“Get off.” 

A flood of cum follows his exit, his thick seed dribbling down your folds. The sensation has your eyes fluttering. Well, that’s new. He flops down beside you, self-satisfied and stretches.   
  
“Y’know, for being such a bitch, you’re a good lay.”   
  
Leave it up to him and his mouth to destroy the afterglow. You shoot him a sour look and drag yourself to your feet. There’s a moment where you almost fall, wobbly and off-kilter before you find your balance.  **  
**  
“Maybe I’ll give you a call sometime.”   
  
You groan, every movement as you slip on your clothes reminding you of how sore and tender you are between your thighs. “Please, for the love of all that is holy,  _ **don’t**_.”  
  
The dickhead laughs, lounging on the bed like a lazy jungle cat. His thick arms cross behind his head, watching you with dark eyes as you collect your stuff. Try as you might, you can’t help sneaking peeks at his barred chest. The smirk on his face lets you know he knows about your covert looks. “Don’t be like that, baby, we had a great time.”   
  
You scoff, refusing to dignify that with a response.   
  
“See, wanna know what I think?”  
  
“Not really but I’m sure that’s not gonna stop you from sharing.”   
  
Ignoring your sarcasm, he continues, “I think you’ve never cum so hard in your life, I think you’re practically gagging for another ride, and I  **know**  you’ll be back.”  
  
Picking something up off the floor, you chuck it at his head and pivot on your heel, storming for the door. Anger, white-hot, pulses and is only partially satisfied by the pained groan that sounds out from behind you as the object makes contact.   
  
“What the fuck was that for?”   
  
“You know exactly what that was for. God, are you always such a fucking dickhead?”   
  
“I think you like it,” he says. “I think you like  _me_.”   
  
“In your dreams, Tucker.”   
  
“If we were in my dream, you’d be a hell of a lot more naked.”   
  
Ignoring the flush that burns its way across your face, you resolutely keep your back to him and straighten your clothes. That man’s ego is already big enough without you adding fuel to the fire. He doesn’t need to know that this was the best sex you’ve ever had, that you came so hard your toes curled, that you can’t wait till next time. Lance “The Fucker” Tucker is a very apt nickname and isn’t that the most annoying thing ever?  
  
“You’re such a pig.”   
  
For once in his life, Tucker shows mercy and doesn’t point out how flustered you sound and if that isn’t progress you don’t know what is.   
  
“See you later, baby.” That boyish grin and the wink he tosses does  **NOT**  make your heart lurch. “ I can’t fucking wait.”   
  
You leave without saying a word, but you can’t help thinking,  _me too_.   
  
You’re so fucking screwed. 

 


End file.
